Saint Dirty Face

Labor Day holiday—what’s so special about it?

Did I get the day off? Yeah.

Am I enjoying it? Hell no.

From the moment I woke up, it’s been nonstop: change a lightbulb, haul out the trash, referee whatever cage match the kids have decided to host in the living room, inspect this, fix that. The irony? I do less labor when I’m actually at work.

This isn’t a holiday—it’s Stay Home and Get Pestered Day™.

Catchy, right? Congress should make it official.

Now I’m teetering on the edge of a migraine, whispering prayers for silence that’ll never come. Can I take it out on them? Of course not. Or can I…? (Relax, I’m kidding. Mostly.)

But damn if the name doesn’t fit. Labor Day is pure labor, just without the paycheck.

So here’s my rebellion: I’m wearing white all week in protest. White shirt, white shorts, white socks—like a middle-aged ghost haunting my own house chores.

Labor Day. Thanks for the day off. Next year, maybe send a maid service instead.

✊🏻 Stay Dirty, Stay Dangerous.™

– Saint Dirty Face™